


Legacy

by Faia Saiyajin (badgertastic)



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-04
Updated: 2008-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-16 06:36:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5817826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badgertastic/pseuds/Faia%20Saiyajin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foolish pride kept Bardock from meeting his own son before Bejiitasei was destroyed.  A deal made with Enma Daiou, the Underworld Judge, has given him one last chance to meet the one called Son Gokou and see what has become of the Low Rank Saiyajin he abandoned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> Written using the Romanized Japanese versions of the names, as they're quite literally what I grew up with back in the day when we had to get our anime from uncut fansubs and expensive-as-fuck dealer services. The spellings of said names/places are forever seared into my brain and I'll never ever stop using them. Also includes Romanized Japanese swears for the same reason and because I'm still kind of an uncurable weeb. Get off my lawn, you gorram kids!

The Ogre shifted nervously, staring up at the massive desk, at least 20 times his height, filling his vision with its sheer hugeness. Then again, Enma Daiou was a giant himself, the underworld judge, responsible for sending souls to their final destination. The bespectacled Ogre fiddled with his tie, shifting his weight from foot to foot nervously. The line of spirits beside him trailed out the door and down a good length of the Serpent Path, muttering amongst themselves about the holdup. Above him, hidden by his huge desk, Enma Daiou grumbled, rifling through papers, his pencil tapping out rapid-fire on the desktop.

"E-e-Enma Daiou...?" The Ogre squeaked, his blue skin paling visibly. His boss kept on flipping through the files, stamping them with a red seal describing their destination. He would have to speak louder. Four unsuccessful tries later, he screwed up his courage. "OI! Enma Daiou!" At that precise moment, Enma Daiou had gone silent, the Ogre's cry echoing twice as loud.

With a hiss of breath, he cringed as Enma Daiou leaned over the desk, looking enraged at being addressed in such a manner. "Who dares?!" His eyes landed on the small blue Ogre who was prostrating himself face-first on the ground, shaking hard enough to rattle the floorboards.

"A-a-a... He's here, Enma Daiou. The-the-the-man you asked for..." Enma Daiou's eyebrows lifted, vanishing beneath the cap on his head. It took him a few moments to register the notice, the eraser-end of his pencil smudging the marks the tapping of the point had smattered on the surface. It dawned on him a moment later, with a snapping of his fingers that sounded like a thunder crack.

"Ah yes! Excellent. Send him in!" When there was no reply, he leaned over his desk, to see that the messenger had fainted dead away.

When the unconscious Ogre had been carried away by a pair of puff-ball spirits (complete with nurse's caps and a stretcher between them) and the line of waiting souls restored to order, another Ogre, a sturdier red-skinned one less prone to fainting, was sent to fetch Enma Daiou's special guest. By then 12 souls had been sent to the Soul Washing Machine, 30 sent to JiGokou, and a handful sent immediately to TenGokou, hurried off to the plane by a group of Ogres. Their physical forms returned, save for the ghost-like tail appearing where their legs should have been. They were all nuns, killed unfortunately in a bus crash. Enma Daiou grumbled, scratching his head, the cap with the large character bearing his name set askew. Far too many were being sent to Hell nowadays. The Judge of the Underworld scowled. Wasn't there any good left on Chikyuusei?

The constant muttering of souls waiting to be judged went silent suddenly, as a spirit with an actual physical form was led into their presence. Being sent to the afterlife while retaining a body was rare. They clustered around the guest, before being rudely put back in line by Enma Daiou's workers.

"He's here, Enma Daiou." The red Ogre said, loudly enough to be heard and still sound subservient. Glancing up at the man beside him, the Ogre suppressed a shudder, managing to compose himself just as Enma Daiou stood up over his desk to see the smaller pair. With a low bow, the Ogre backed away, herding the spirits back out of the room so that Enma Daiou could have some privacy.

Leaning back in his overstuffed office chair, the Underworld Judge brought out a heavy book from a desk drawer. It landed on the stack of ever-present papers with a loud thud, as its covers were opened, revealing the pages of the lives of those who had already died. Rubbing his chin in thought, he flipped through hundreds of thousands of pages, seeking the chapter for his most special guest. When he found it, he scanned the pages briefly, the chair squealing in protest as he shifted his weight.

"Hhhmmmm..." The tapping of the pencil on the desktop began again, a sure sign that Enma Daiou was deep in thought. "If memory serves me correctly, 36 years ago you came to me new-dead, and asked for a heavy sentence, despite the judgment I would have placed on you?" He eyed the stranger, looking particularly interested in him.

"Yes."

Enma Daiou blinked in surprise. Most souls granted a rare audience with the Judge were sent into incomprehensible stuttering fits. "You were a soldier, eh? A soldier in Furiiza's Army. Pah." His nose wrinkled at the mention of the name. "Says here you were to be sent to the Soul Washing Machine and then in to TenGokou, but you refused entrance into Paradise. You dared to strike a bargain with the Judge of the Underworld!" He smirked. "And for whatever reason, perhaps a passing fancy, I allowed it. You were sent to JiGokou, when in fact I was willing to overlook your life's profession simply because you tried to avenge your people and died fighting to save them. For 36 years you endured the torment of Hell, asking that in return you were allowed one day on Chikyuusei." An amused smile crossed the face of the massive Judge. "Why?"

Like a well-prepared lawyer ready to deliver his case, the question was taken unflinchingly. "You already know that before I died I was given the ability to see into the future."

"Punishment for eradicating the Kanassajin."

"Before I was killed I saw my legacy pass on into greatness. He defeated Furiiza when I tried ... and failed. I wanted to meet him, at least once. When he was an infant I saw him only once with my own eyes. I ran away, then. I was ashamed that he would be only a Low-Rank Soldier."

Enma Daiou grunted. "But he's far surpassed his supposed destiny." He tapped the pencil slowly, thoughtfully.

"I already know that he's passed through to the Afterlife numerous times, but because I entered JiGokou of my own will, I'll never get to see him."

"Because his deeds have him kept him out of Hell, and even the Soul Washing Machine. When he finally does die ...and stays that way…" The Judge cleared his throat noisily, straightening a tie that didn't need straightening, "he will go to the highest realm of Paradise, or perhaps even to the land of the Kaiou-sama." For a moment the man's head bowed, looking ashamed. "A father's pride in his son is a powerful thing. Especially when that pride comes at a price, learned over time."

"His deeds are renown, even in JiGokou, even without the presence of the evils he'd sent there. They didn't stop at Furiiza. There were men there that far surpassed Furiiza in strength and power, all sent to Hell by my... my son." His head lifted, his entire posture tightening, looking for a moment like the man he was in life - proud, strong, undefeatable. Composure changing, he went from penitent soul to unfailing arrogance made spiritual. "Enough. Are we here to reminisce, or are you going to uphold your end of the bargain?"

To the surprise of the eavesdropping Ogres outside, Enma Daiou didn't bellow, or let out an offended roar. He didn't even get mildly upset. Leaning forward on his desk, he sat his elbows carelessly on the open book before him, staring down at the belligerent soldier who stared back, unafraid.. "Seems like 36 years in Hell hasn't softened you." His pencil was tucked behind one of his pointed ears, amusement written plainly on his face.

"The steel on the anvil only hardens when struck with a hammer."

Enma Daiou laughed loudly. "And apparently it learns philosophy as well! Nicely put, but remember ... a resistant piece of steel will loose its edge if it has to be struck too often." His rolling laugh carried through the doors, as he rang the small gong on his desk, summoning the same red Ogre. He fell headfirst into the room as the doors went flying open, stammering his apologies as he collected himself. They went unheeded as Enma Daiou continued to chuckle to himself. "Send him to Chikyuusei - to the Lookout." The Ogre looked stunned as Enma Daiou continued his orders. "Tell the resident Kami-sama that he has been given a one-day allowance to the Living World." From somewhere in the pocket of his trousers, the Ogre withdrew a clipboard and pencil, filling out the pass that would allow a trip back to the other side. While his master was busying himself putting away books and filing papers (and still caught in a fit of bemused laughter), he turned to the man who hadn't even batted an eyelash at the whole ordeal.

"Name?" His pencil was poised above the form, ready to finalize the form by adding his name.

With a smirk, the spirit crossed his arms, looking down at the Ogre, who couldn't help but shiver at the coal-black eyes. "Bardock."

 

 

CRUNCH! "Kiiiisaaaaaaaammaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" The howled swear was cut off with another loud smash, as Son Goten was planted firmly in the wall by his back. Sixty yards away, his older brother, Son Gohan, dusted off his hands, still standing unharmed in the center of the ring.

"That makes it 3 and 0, oniisan." He grinned, looking satisfied as Goten extricated himself from the supposedly high-impact polymer walls of the Capsule Corp. training ring. Two times he'd won with a ring-out, the other a victory from a technical knockout that put their training session on hold for two hours because Goten had to regain consciousness. From the sidelines his father and his father's best friend watched. His father was sitting cross-legged on the bleachers, his hands resting on his ankles. The smaller man sat to his left, one hand thrust into the pocket of his yellow and black Capsule Corp. jacket, the other holding a juice packet to his mouth, the straw between his lips making sucking noises as Kuririn drained it of its contents. Gohan flashed a thumbs-up to his father, and Gokou returned it, a broad grin on his face.

"Yeah yeah yeah... I know, I know. Best outta 7?" The youngest Son growled, rolling his left arm in its socket, wincing as it popped loudly. He and his brother were dressed in blue and orange, the gi colors of their father and those who had trained with Muten Roshi. Standing on the grass, he swung a leg up, climbing onto the ring that stood a good 2 feet above the ground thanks to the solid block it was built on. A special training place built by Otousan's friend Buruma, the walls and high-domed ceiling were sure to contain the violent and property-damaging spars that played hell with one's insurance and home value. The crushable-but-unbreakable (or so Buruma had said) walls kept the bodies inside when they were propelled at a high-velocity, but it did little to contain the loud growls coming from the ring next-door. The four men in training ring number 2 turned towards the noise, and jumped as a group at the sound of an unfortunate victim being tossed into the wall that separated ring 2 from ring 3. Goten rubbed the back of his head, shivering. "Bejiita's really givin' Trunks hell." He felt a twinge of remorse for his childhood friend. Bejiita wasn't one to tone down his skills simply because he was fighting blood.

Gohan sighed. "Sometimes, I think you loose to me on purpose, just so you won't have to face him." Goten tried to look innocent, whistling a few notes, suddenly interested in the yellow panels of the ceiling. They'd been fighting Tournament-style, three of them randomly picked to be the master of the rings that Buruma had built for them. This time around it was Kuririn in ring 1, Gohan in ring 2, and Bejiita in ring 3. They'd all beaten Kuririn easily, the former monk taking his defeat in-stride. Gokou had already bested Gohan. The rules of this particular Tournament were agreed on beforehand, this one having only one rule - that there were no rules. Anything was allowable. Since Gohan had given up his ability to enter the Super Saiyajin level by becoming a Mystic, he'd been no match for Gokou, who after much prodding and poking on Gohan's part, had pushed himself to Super Saiyajin 3. Gohan had held up well, all things considered, but was no match for Son Gokou's crushing power. If Gohan had used his rage-driven power things might have turned out differently, given that with that added boost his anger gave him, he was the strongest of the Gokou-tachi. Trunks had beaten Gohan first, in a stroke of luck, somehow managing to trip Gohan and then kick him out of the ring. Now Goten was playing dumb simply to avoid a royal beating by Bejiita.

They were all looking forward to the match between Gokou and Bejiita, Bejiita's never-ending desire to beat his old rival making for an interesting battle, especially since the sky was the limit (figuratively anyway, given that even the ceiling was made of the same material the walls were). After that it would be a relaxing bath in a heated tub, then the 5 Saiyajin would gorge themselves on the food being prepared by Chi-Chi and Videl. Kuririn would head home to his own place, where Juuhatchi-Gou would have a more normal-sized dinner prepared for her Chikyuujin husband.

"Goten, maybe you should try..." Gokou's words were cut off as a mental contact pierced his brain, making him sit up straight, his eyebrows raised. After a few moments of silence, 3 heads swiveling to look at him, the lovable moron cocked his head, scratching his temple, looking confused. "Hai, Dende. I'll be there in a flash." He stood, using the toe of his left boot to rub the back of his right knee, where the bunched-up fabric of his gi had started to pinch.

"Otousan? What did Dende want?" Gohan looked at his father, who was still looking befuddled by Dende's mental communication.

"Dunno, Gohan. He said there was someone there who wanted to see me." Gokou shrugged, indicating that the message was unclear, or perhaps too complicated for Gokou's simple nature to understand.

"Hn.. yeah... the ol' 'Message-from-the-Kami-sama' trick." Goten grinned mischievously at his father. "You just don't wanna fight Bejiita."

Gokou looked insulted. "Do too!"

Goten cackled, unable to keep his mirth from bubbling over. "Suuuure you do, Pop. Just like I wanna meet the King of the World and tell him he needs to get rid of that mustache of his." Gokou seemed to pout just then, his eyebrows inverting, touching the tips of his index fingers together. It halved his age, making him look like the monkey-tailed child Buruma had discovered in the woods all those years ago. "...jeez Otousan... ya ain't gotta get all mopey on me. I was only kidding." The sound of a door opening made Goten look up, to see Bejiita standing there, a towel slung over his shoulders.

"NEXT!" He bellowed like a short-order cook, while shifting in the black gi shirt that was soaked in sweat. Apparently Trunks hadn't lost without a fight. "Kakarotto! Get your ass in here!" His attempt to end the match between himself and his brat son swiftly hadn't gone as planned. He wanted to fight Kakarotto now, without hesitation, to see just how well his extra heavy-duty training had gone.

The eager look on Bejiita's face at the prospect of facing his father made Goten swallow. The Princeling wouldn't take it lying down that Gokou had to call off the match because of Dende's summons. "Umm... I think I'm gonna go grab a soda. Oniichan? Wanna come?"

Gohan took the hint, practically running to catch up with his brother. "Sure thing! Hey... Kuririn?" To his surprise, Kuririn was right behind him, knowing full well he didn't want to be anywhere near Bejiita when the news was broken.

"Yeah... I gotta call Juu-chan... she's expecting me no later than 6... eheh..hehehehe... Ja, Gokou!" Without so much as a backward glance, Kuririn hustled out of the room like he had a fleet of Furiizas on his tail, followed by Gohan and Goten, who gave their father a hopeful nod.

The door was closing behind them when Gokou began his explanation. "A-ano, Bejiita..." The three broke into a run, aiming to get as far away as possible before Bejiita blew his top. When they'd entered the kitchen, sliding nervously into the chairs, Buruma tossing them cans of soda, the roars of Bejiita were crystal-clear, as if they were standing right beside him. Goten suddenly looked alarmed.

"K'so!" Chi-chi's warning glare about her son's language went unnoticed. "We forgot Trunks!"

Kuririn lifted his soda, as if in toast to a fallen comrade. "...may he rest in pieces."

 

 

A blurred orange-and-blue blob materialized on the edge of Heaven's Lookout a few moments later, clarifying into the slumped form of Gokou, who was busily rubbing an offending knot on the back of his head. When the Shunkan Idou had finalized, and he had appeared fully, Gokou's legs dropped out from under him, as he sat on his rear rubbing the parting thump Bejiita had graced him with. "Owwww... That wasn't fair!" Gokou frowned, forcing the lump back down with a hiss of pain and a nice set of goosebumps.

"Hello!" A cheerful voice chirped behind him, nearly sending Gokou skidding off the side as he yelped in surprise.

"Aiya! Shimatta... oh. Osu, Popo!" Looking somewhat reproachful about his initial scare, Gokou turned his waist to look at the turbaned helper of Kami-sama, grinning in his embarrassment. "Ya surprised me for a second there." Mr. Popo merely chuckled, giving a tug on his vest. "Say, Popo... d'ya know what Dende wants? I mean, he told me to come up here which made me have to call off a spar with Bejiita who gave me a lump on my head and..."

"This way, Gokou." The round little fellow scuttled off without another word, leaving Gokou to get to his feet and follow, an eyebrow raised, his mouth a small round 'o' shape. First Dende gives him a mental ringy-dingy and tells him to show up, and now Popo was playing dumb. Somebody had it out for him today, he was sure. To make matters worse, Chi-Chi said she'd make dumplings for him, and nobody made 'em like Chi-Chi. Now thanks to Dende, he wouldn't be around to get any. Jeez. It was enough to make anyone annoyed. But Gokou merely shrugged it off. Chi's dumplings were filling, so if Gohan and Goten ate them, there'd be plenty of other stuff for him. ...especially if Videl made vinegar rice and sashimi. He'd caught a monster-sized carp the other day (silly thing thought he was some sort of oversized worm), and Chi'd spend the entire afternoon cutting it up and stuffing it into their several large freezers for a later use. ...And Videl made the BEST vinegar rice.

Visions of dumplings and rice balls dancing 'round his head, Gokou nearly forgot where he was and what he was doing, following blindly behind Popo, unable to keep himself from drooling. His stomach began to growl loudly, the battles with Kuririn and Gohan making his gigantic Saiyajin appetite even stronger. Putting a hand to his stomach, Gokou could have sworn he felt the grumbling clear through to his skin. "Easy my pet... we'll eat soon. ...Mmm... dumplings... Gah! Stop thinking about food! ...say... Popo?"

"Hm?" They hustled through a row of neatly pruned chrysanthemums, the palm trees waving silently overhead. Nearly to the other side of the Lookout, they skirted the edge of it, to where Dende told him to bring Gokou. This was all a very confusing business. Dende'd barely gotten a notice from Enma Daiou about a guest coming over from the Underworld before POOF!, there he was. At first Popo'd thought Gokou had somehow gotten himself killed, the resemblance was so strong. But this Gokou had gotten a scar on his cheek and a tan and then decked himself in old Saiyajin armor. Without a word the Gokou look-alike handed over the pass to Dende, who could barely contain his surprise at the note, and then demanded to see his son. It was uncanny, the similarities, but this Bardock fellow seemed to be quite the polar opposite of Gokou, hence the inherent confusion.

What was he gonna ask again? Oh, yeah... "Ya don't got anythin' ta' eat 'round here, do ya?" Oops. Wrong question. "Er... I mean... what's goin' on? I mean, ya know..."

"In good time, Gokou. In good time. ...ah... Kami-sama! He's here!" Dende was standing on the northern face of the Lookout, watching over the terrain, his wooden staff tapping idly on the tiles. The Nameckjin turned, nodding a greeting to Popo and to Gokou. "Here you are, Gokou. Now let me go see about some food. Kami-sama knows how short your attention span is when you're hungry." Waddling off, he lifted a hand in farewell, making his way to the large building in the center of the platform.

"Arigatou, Popo!" Gokou nearly squealed, barely able to keep himself from dancing in joy. With a little laugh, he looked down at Kami-sama, scratching his cheek. "So ... uh... what?" Dende shook his head, grinning, before getting a serious look on his face that Gokou didn't like in the least.

"Glad you could join us, Gokou."

"Yep. Here I am. And what in the hell's goin' on? I'm so confused..."

Dende patted his arm lightly in mock comfort. "It's okay, Gokou. Now, see here. About oh, 20 minutes ago, Enma Daiou sent me a message, saying that he was sending a spirit over to this side. He mentioned something about a 36-year old bargain. The soul showed up, and well ... he asked to see you. I'm not the type to give in to sudden demands of this kind, but he was insistent." As he was talking, he led Gokou towards the building, to where the large golden double-doors gleamed in the light.

"Uh-huh... okay..." The notion didn't occur to Gokou that it might have been an old enemy who had somehow finagled his way into coming back for an unsuspected visit. The dumplings in his head were talking too loudly. A door swung open, a dark figure emerging from the dim light within. Gokou immediately dismissed it as Piccolo. "Who was it?" Looking down at Dende, he paid no attention to the approaching person as he walked the length of the canopy, slowly coming into the sunlight. Were this not Gokou, and were his wits not dulled even more by the thought of food, he would have recognized the silhouette as looking familiar, almost mirror-like.

"Well, ah, Gokou, here's the catch. ...he says he's your father." Dende pointed to the newcomer. The timing was impeccable, as Bardock stepped from beneath the shade, Gokou's head snapping up. For the first time in their lives, father and son locked eyes, the biological bond between them reforged at this unexpected meeting.

Gokou's jaw dropped a moment, his eyes wide. He then produced one of his less intelligent sentences, a long stumbling line of nonsense. "Bah...bah hubba-hubba wah-wah? Otousan?!"

Bardock tilted his head slightly in greeting, not taking his eyes off of Gokou. "At long last. It's good to see you finally ... son."

 

 

Popo was busying himself in the kitchens, stirring and frying and prodding, moving between the numerous pots and steamer baskets, humming to himself softly. For the past several hundred years, the Kami-sama had been a Nameckjin, and that species consumed nothing more than water, so Popo's cooking skills had lain dormant until the first arrival of Gokou and, at a later date, his other friends. So the act of cooking such large amounts of food didn't trouble Popo in the least. On the contrary he enjoyed it immensely, always content when he was pleasing others and getting things accomplished. The kitchen door crept open behind him, and he cast a quick glance over his shoulder to see Piccolo enter. "Ah... did you have a pleasing rest, Piccolo?"

The Nameckjin cracked the joints in his neck, having just awoken from the meditative state he substituted for sleep. He'd forgone his usual turban and cloak, leaving the heavily weighted garments folded in his quarters. "Indeed. I gather from the small storm you're cooking up that a Saiyajin is here?" He eyed the 10-high stack of steamer baskets as they rattled and hissed inside the wok. Dumplings. Had to be Gokou. "Son?"

"Yes yes, quite correct. Dende summoned him a few minutes ago. Enma Daiou sent over a spirit from JiGokou, someone who wanted to see Gokou." Piccolo's brow went up. "I dare say this will be an interesting evening."

"Sent from JiGokou? Who?" Piccolo stepped back as the teakettle began to whistle, looking like it was about to explode. Popo scooped it up, and while he was busy stirring the noodles with a set of cooking chopsticks, poured himself a cup of tea without a second thought.

"Yes, indeed. Enma Daiou supposedly struck a bargain with him many years ago. It's Gokou's father." For a second Piccolo sounded like one of the pots, hissing loudly, on the verge of bursting. "Oh, no need to get all worked up about it, Piccolo. He made a deal with Enma Daiou, that if he went to Hell he would eventually get a chance to meet his son." Popo smiled, sipping his tea. "It's really quite endearing, if you ask me." The door closed as Piccolo made his exit, apparently out to investigate. Popo laughed softly to himself, and began putting the finished dishes on the stack of plates nearby. "I suppose he figures the reunion will follow the way his went when he met the previous Kami-sama... Or perhaps he expects one of the Radditzsu kind." Shrugging lightly, Popo busied himself with his preparations, hoping that he'd made enough food for the both of them. Eh, at any rate, with Gokou present, there was no worry of leftovers.

Piccolo had just opened the door when Gokou had managed to recover from his shock. Stealthily he closed the door behind him, standing just outside it, eyeing the pair, Dende standing off to the side. Well, it was obvious from where Gokou got his looks. They were almost identical. Same hair, height, and stature. He snorted quietly. And they said Nameckjin all looked alike.

 

Gokou pointed from himself to Bardock and back again, unashamedly staring, absorbing it all slowly. Even his hunger was forgotten (for the moment). "You're ... my father?"

"I am." Bardock couldn't keep the amusement off his face, although he was somewhat stunned. This blabbering idiot was the one who defeated Furiiza? Impossible! It was true Furiiza kept spouting off the 'stupid ape!' line, but that was the fallen tyrant's term of endearment for all Saiyajin. And what was all of this 'Gokou' nonsense? His name was Kakarotto. Bardock may have hardly looked at the infant, but he was sure that his name was of a more reasonable kind, not that strange Chikyuujin jumble. "You are indeed Kakarotto, correct?"

This was new. Both Radditzsu and Bejiita snarled his true name, making sure to accent the fact that he was, by birth, nothing more than a Low Rank Saiyajin. But his _father_... now that was an odd feeling. ... his father said it differently, as if he'd developed some sort of respect and awe for the name and the warrior it was attached to.  Gokou noticed with a mild shock that there was a fatherly pride around Bardock, like that case of warm fuzzies he got whenever he looked at Gohan or Goten. He hadn't had that emotion directed at him in many years, not since Ojiisan Gohan, his son's namesake and the man who'd found him in the woods as a baby. This wasn't the same kind of warm fuzzies an adopted father and son shared, this was the real thing. It was incredible. "I'm Kakarotto. Although the Chikyuujin... _er_... my friends call me Gokou. That's what Grandpa Gohan called me when he found me."

"Grandpa ... Gohan?" Bardock raised a brow, looking confused. That must have been the old man in his visions. Apparently Kakarotto had hours worth of stories to tell. Bardock wasn't trying to regain lost time - he'd let that invaluable moment go when he scoffed at Toma's suggestion to see his newborn son, right before the lone Kanassajin attacked and gave him foresight. He wasn't trying to convince his son to show him the devotion any child would show a parent - like he'd said to Enma Daiou in the checkout station, all he wanted to do was meet him.

Gokou nodded excitedly. "Hai! When my pod crashed, I was found by Grandpa Gohan. He raised me. Apparently I was a royal terror until I tumbled down a cliffside and bonked my head. I forgot about whatever mission I was supposed to complete." He prattled on a mile-a-minute, racing through the first meeting of Buruma and Kuririn and Yamucha, and their adventures, his breath running out at about the time he'd defeated Piccolo in the Tenkaichi Boudokai. "Oh... and here he is! That's Piccolo!" He'd noticed the Nameckjin the moment he'd made his entrance, but was so wrapped up in the meeting with his father it'd been forgotten a second later. "Piccolo, this is my Otousan!" Gokou waved him over eagerly, Piccolo complying. Barely. Bardock was looking at Gokou as if he'd just announced he'd become the King of the World.

He called him 'father', like he'd known him all his life. In Hell he'd heard rumors about Gokou's devotion and his ridiculously easy-going personality. And like any Saiyajin, he was fiercely loyal to his allies. That was a line that was not to be crossed under pain of death. But to simply dismiss his father's neglect and welcome him with open arms? That was unheard of. While Kakarotto was busy making the introductions, Bardock found himself drifting backwards, to the edge of the Lookout. The endless sea of green grass below the platform and the blue sky above it put Bardock's heart at ease. This was indeed a beautiful planet. Bejiitasei had been beautiful in its own right, but this was of a different sort. No wonder Kakarotto so righteously defended it.

Gokou looked at Bardock, who had moved away, as if in a dream. "Otousan?" He stood beside him, equal in height. Yet his father's rigid and powerful bearing made him seem larger, even if his power level came nowhere close to his own. "...sure is pretty, isn't it?" Stretching his arms over his head, Gokou took a deep breath. "Hey, follow me!" Like a child eager to show his father the newest project he'd completed in school, Gokou led Bardock to the western face of the Lookout. "Ya see that city out there...? The one with the three big towers that kinda look like cotton swabs?" Bardock had no trouble picking out the island Gokou pointed to. "Okay... now look over there... to where the river almost cuts the island in half? Ya see that little yellow house out there?" When he'd nodded, Gokou grinned wide. "That's my house. My wife Chi-Chi and my two sons live there. Well, actually Gohan is kinda thinkin' about movin' in with his girlfriend..."

"You have a family? A Chikyuujin wife?"

"Yup! Her name's Chi-Chi. But don't let that whole Chikyuujin thing bother ya. She's the strongest woman on the planet. Her father's Gyu-Maou. My oldest son Gohan is pretty strong too, even if he doesn't go Super Saiyajin no more." Bardock's sharp inhalation of breath made him pause. "Ohh yeah. That's right. The whole 'Legendary Super Saiyajin' thingamajig."

"...are you?"

"Yup. I am. Gohan and Goten too. Well, Gohan could anyway, but when he trained with Higashi no Kaioshin he became something called a Mystic. Bejiita and his son are Super Saiyajin, too." Since this had become common knowledge amongst himself and his friends, Gokou'd since forgotten the effect it could have on people. Bardock was staring at him with wide eyes. "Oh, um... it's okay. It's no real big thing anyway. Bejiita always says that the Legend that was supposed to occur every 1000 years is a thing of the past, what with 'Super Saiyajin walking around like there was a discount sale on it'." Gokou laughed. "Eh, come on. I'll introduce ya to them! The shock'll be less when you realize they're still just normal folks."

Bardock managed to process Gokou's invite before Gokou took off and pulled him along with him. "No no. I can't leave the Lookout. I'm still just a spirit. This is the only place I can materialize."

"Oh. Drats. Well... um... I'll tell 'em to come. It's only right ya meet yer grandsons!" Before Bardock could protest, Gokou'd closed his eyes, reaching out to Gohan, Goten, and Trunks, being a little more careful about Bejiita. Knowing him, he was still angry about the whole ordeal. When the matter had been taken care of, Gokou's eyes popped open. "They'll be here in a jiffy. They can't Shunkan Idou like I can, but they're still pretty quick."

Quick, indeed. Bardock found himself grateful for the diversion his descendant's arrival caused, as he was rapidly running out of conversation topics. Being welcomed so warmly and without prejudice had shaken him to his core, and it wasn't like he'd been handed a pamphlet on his way from the Spirit World concerning suitable conversations to have with a son you'd never seen in near on 4 decades. The cluster of arrivals touched down on the Lookout, one trailing behind on a peculiar yellow cloud. Gohan had opted to give the neglected Kintoun a ride for old time's sake, the peaceful ride allowing him to rest after the training and ponder his Otousan's curious message.

When he'd set down on the Lookout with Kintoun happily put-puttering skyward on its merry way, he found himself nearly mowed over by an over-exuberant Gokou. The Saiyajin was rarely mindful of his strength when he was this happy, and he scooped up his sons in his powerful arms, hugging them tight enough to make their spines crackle as he hopped up and down, positively beaming. While Gohan and Goten's heads bobbled like their necks were on springs thanks to Son's small-dog-glee-in-a-big-dog-body, Trunks raised a curious brow at his own father. Bejiita shrugged helplessly, just as confused. That was before Gokou's joy bubbled over once again, dropping his wheezing children and turning his crushing affections on the Briefs men. As Bejiita swore colorfully enough to make even the most vulgar creature blush, Trunks tried in vain to extricate himself from the giggling man-child. Thankfully, before things turned ugly on Bejiita's part, Gokou promptly dropped his victims, with one arm still around Trunks's shoulders and the other reigning Goten in for another squeeze (the youngest Son promptly squawking like a much-abused rubber duck). "I'm so happy you're here!"

Gohan chuckled, lifting his hands in surrender should his father decide he want another hug. "What's all this about, Otousan? Someone we had to meet?"

Practically dancing in place as he bounced from foot to foot, Gokou nodded eagerly. "Mhm mhm mhm! You guys are gonna love this! Follow me!" Granted, there wasn't much 'following' to be done, as the honored guest was barely 30 yards away, watching the spectacle with an expression of both amusement and embarrassment. What grown man (and a full-blooded Saiyajin no less) got so excited and acted in such a way? So much for pride and decorum.

Bardock had faced many a terrifying thing in his short life. He'd stood practically eye-to-eye with Furiiza and didn't flinch, yet the approaching crowd made him feel like he was about to be executed. Briefly, he felt a pang of ironic remorse. Had this been how countless peoples felt when they watched the Saiyajin squadrons emerge from their pods? Gokou slung an arm over his sons' shoulders as he faced Bardock, his face split in a titanic grin. The younger generation looked just as uncomfortable as Bardock, that kind of discomfort youths felt when they'd been shoved into fancy clothes and paraded around before relatives. Bejiita and Trunks trailed behind, still exchanging puzzled glances.

Nearly pounded into the tiled floor like oversized tent pegs as their father patted them on the shoulder, the Son children cocked their heads curiously at the dark-skinned man. But before either could begin to fathom a guess at the physical similarities, Gokou began the introductions. "Otousan …er.. Bardock, this is Son Gohan, and Son Goten. Gohan, Goten, this is Bardock. Your Ojiisan!" He hadn't expected their first meeting to go well, but the lovable dolt had decided it was best to skip any long-winded confusing explanations and just throw the information out for all to hear. Bardock nodded curtly, surveying the young men. They'd both made rather amusing strangled noises, Goten wearing a near-exact match of the surprised expression Gokou had first worn. Bardock's mouth crooked up in a small grin, noting that the youngest child was an almost dead-on copy of his father (and summarily, Bardock himself).

Being far more of an intellectual powerhouse than either brother or father, Gohan recovered first, thrusting a hand out towards his Grandfather. The other scratched rapidly at the back of his head as he grinned nervously. He would have been just as content to stand there blinking like Goten, but the hard-ingrained manners Chi-Chi had instilled in her eldest were kicking in hard. The woman would be positively violet with embarrassment and rage if she'd ever found out her beloved sons had stood around like ignorant goofs upon meeting their long-lost grandfather. "A-ah, it's a pleasure to meet you at last, Ojiisan."

Once again stunned by the sudden warm welcome, Bardock shakily extended his own hand, clasping his grandson's forearm tightly. Years of experience and training fired off in the back of his brain as he felt the sheer strength of the muscle beneath his fingers. Almost ashamed at the way he sized up the young man like a leader checking his troops, Bardock would have liked to glow with pride. Even without a scouter to detect Gohan's exact power level, sheer instinct paired with a long-dormant sense of paternal pride was enough proof for Bardock. This one, at least, would have made First Rank, despite his lesser ancestry. He wasn't a man of emotion or affection, only allowing his smile to deepen a hair, even if he thought his heart would burst. "The pleasure is mine, Son Gohan."

Following Gohan's lead, Goten offered his own arm and a cheeky grin. "Gramps." Bardock took it with a snort, passing the same judgment on his second grandson. Just as strong, this one, but insolent, even lazy. He could have made First Rank easily, but Bardock suspected Goten would have been the underachiever of the year, perfectly happy with being plopped on the high end of Second Rank. Half-tempted to soundly box the teen on the ear, Bardock held himself in check. It was too late to go about wagging fingers and playing wise old Ojiisan. Before Gokou could finish up the rest of the introductions, Goten took it upon himself. Apparently satisfied that the ghost of their grandfather wasn't out for some spooky revenge, Son Goten immediately resumed his usual mouthy charm. "Yo, Ojiisan, this is my best friend, Trunks." Dragging the violet-haired one over, Goten slung an arm around him, even as Trunks glowered at him, clearly embarrassed.

Bejiita, not in the least bit pleased to be left for last, cleared his throat loudly. Gokou, for once on point, caught it, chirping up again. "Oh! Oh! And of course, we can't forge -" Bejiita cut him off abruptly, not about to have the moron botch everything up with some harebrained blabber. Even if Son's father was of the pathetic lowest rank in the Saiyajin hierarchy, he wasn't about to give up one last chance at the old pomp and circumstance. Black eyes, half-lidded with smug superiority, were cast on the scarred face as the Prince squared himself off. It was amazing, how easily his body remembered the old postures royalty took. Chest thrust out, chin lifted, a casual dignity of frame that conveyed not only political stature and rank, but physical power as well. The very minute his last muscle arranged itself, Gokou and Goten edged out of the way, seeing the way Bejiita had begun to puff up like a pompous fugu.

Stark realization lit up in Bardock's eyes, his jaw dropping open as the diminutive former leader took his stance. "Bejiita-Ouji!" The title exploded past Bardock's lips before he knew what he was doing, dropping to one knee, his right fist slamming over his heart in salute as he bowed his head, exposing his back to the rightful leader of the Saiyajin. He cursed himself for his stupidity. The rumors around Hell had not only spoken of Kakarotto, but of the survival and strength of the last surviving Saiyajin, the Prince.

A strange annoyed hiss sounded, as Gokou bent, glaring daggers at Bejiita as he hauled his father to his feet. "Don't do that, Otousan." He never gave a thought to Bejiita's former rank or broken kingdom (despite Bejiita spouting off about it every day of the week and twice on Sunday), and to see his friend lording over his father to regain a shred of old dignity filled him with a strange quiet fury. The way Bardock's posture had changed did little to calm his ire. Where there had been a proud quiet warrior stood a bumbling peasant, his shoulders hunched and his gaze on the floor humbly. Clearly Bardock was mortified, not only at his own behavior, but at the blatant disregard for rank-and-file his offspring had displayed. "Stoppit, Poppa, you don't gotta -"

Bardock cut him off with a raised hand and a warning glare, a father chiding his child. He composed himself, bending low at the waist towards Bejiita. "Forgive me, Bejiita-Ouji."

From across the bowed back of his father, Gokou seethed, glaring hard at Bejiita. It felt as if the Saiyajin no Ouji had taken cruel advantage of Bardock. The metaphorical heel he'd placed on the soldier's back just to stroke his own immense ego sparked an emotional change in Son Gokou, bringing forth the solemn righteous anger reserved for and directed at those who would harm others for pleasure or personal gain. Bejiita had been graced that look once before, long ago. With the feeling came the rising memory of the sound beating that had accompanied it. He tried not to squirm in discomfort, unnerved by the glare.

The Princeling cleared his throat, giving his gi a quick snap to compose himself. Quelching his ego with great difficulty, he extended a gloved hand, resting it on Bardock's bowed shoulder, guiding the soldier to stand. "Enough of that shit," he tried his best to smile amicably, even if it was laced with bitterness and looked more like a snarl than anything else. "I'm glad to have finally met the one who went against Furiiza by himself and tried to defend our people." He snorted, the snarl-smile turning into a wry grin. "At least I see where Kakarotto gets it from." He risked a cursory glance at Gokou.

Having done a personality-180° in the span of mere seconds, Gokou's anger had evaporated, and he wore that usual stupid grin of his. Bejiita sighed inwardly, raggedly. The other four Saiyajin were talking a mile a minute, Gokou no doubt filling them in on the whole long story. Kakarotto's speech was peppered with various exclamations of agreement, the phrase 'I know, crazy, right?!' popping up more than once. Bejiita rolled his eyes, and found Bardock doing much the same. He'd recovered from the shock of the Saiyajin no Ouji treating him and addressing him as an equal - and speaking of him with admiration, no less! Thankfully he was already a ghost, or else he might have very well fallen over dead.

Before either could comment (or be dragged into the conversation), stout little Popo appeared, eliciting a shriek of glee from Gokou. The forgotten hunger had returned with a vengeance, and the appearance of Kami-sama's assistant meant only one thing. Food! He would have liked to lift him bodily and kiss him, but managed to refrain, just barely. Even before Popo could get a word out, Gokou had sprung on him.

"Just point me in the right direction, Popo!" Gokou had once again resumed hopping from foot to foot, adding in excited clapping. The turban-topped fellow merely sighed with a resigned smile, pointing in the requested direction.

"The main hall, Gokou."

Leaving the others near-deaf at the sonic boom that sounded in his wake (and the squeal that was just as loud), Gokou took off like a rocket. Thankfully for both Kami-sama and his attendant Gokou still had the mental faculties to open and use the doors, or the poor God would be graced with gaping Gokou-shaped holes in his walls and doors as the Saiyajin took the quickest route to the feast. Flowers and palm trees were buffeted by the collective sigh given off by the rest, before they quickly followed behind, lest Gokou eat not only the food, but half of the table and whatever unfortunate things passed too close to his maw.

Trotting beside his grandfather, Goten, poked him on the shoulder, giving another grin as he reacted. "Oi, Ojiisan, how many fingers do you got?" Baffled by the inane question, Bardock lifted both massive hands, displaying all ten fingers. "Well make sure ya mind 'em, huh? With Otousan here you're likely to lose 'em - or an arm - if you're not careful."

Bardock smiled, chuckling loudly. "That bad, huh?"

Rubbing a forefinger beneath his nose, Goten sighed. "Yep. It's because of Otousan why we're not allowed t' have any family pets."

Behind him, Gohan sighed dramatically. "Poor Creampuff, never knew what hit him. Good thing you weren't even born yet. It was such a mess. Okaasan was crying for days…" Walking with his hands in his pockets as he was, he nudged against Trunks with a knowing grin, the other teen stifling a laugh, clearly in on the joke. Most brothers in normal families teased one another with being adopted. With the Sons, it was that their father had accidentally eaten the dog. And for all these years, Goten was none the wiser to the prank.

Finding Gokou thanks not to the sound of normal chewing, but the **inhalation** of near-whole foodstuffs, the remaining five found a place at the table. So weighed down with assorted dishes it seemed to bow in the middle, the gathered Saiyajin spoke no further. No thanks before meals, no niceties to pass the salt or the potatoes, only guttural grunts and animalistic snarls as they devoured anything in sight, not bothering with forks or knives to cut meat. The half-breeds at the table matched the gusto of the full bloods, asserting that being of Chikyuujin stock was no detriment to strength nor appetite.

With a hiss that would have done Karin-sama proud, Gokou slapped away hands that reached for the stacks of baskets that contained his precious dumplings. More than once he graced Gohan with a spattering of half-chewed food as he defended his tower viciously - if their name wasn't Son Gokou and/or Kakarotto, they weren't coming within smelling distance of the dumplings. While the Earthbound Saiyajin feasted, the two raised on Bejiitasei sat their end of the table like soldiers at evening mess. Long used to eating in the company of others of the ravenous tailed race, the two seemed to be on the same mental wavelength. Bardock would glance at an out-of-reach target, and in the next instant, without missing a beat, Bejiita would shoot out an arm and launch a portion at the other Saiyajin, who caught it effortlessly. Neither missed a mouthful, even if it seemed like every few minutes a spontaneous juggling act sprung up as one passed the other a desired tidbit.

After the frenzy subsided, and empty plates stacked haphazardly to make space for feet or head, a low rumbling sigh escaped the sated men. Sucking on a few bits of beef lodged in his back teeth, Goten laced his fingers behind his head as he reclined with a contented murmur. "An' now … a nap!"

Gohan rubbed his stomach, practically falling backwards out of his chair in his lethargy. "Maaaan, I haven't eaten like that since -"

"Dinner last night?" Trunks interjected, licking both plum sauce and grease off his fingers. The table erupted in low chuckles, five of the six assembled grateful for the hard-working women who cooked up a storm to feed them. The combined grocery bills of the Briefs, Son, and Son-Satan households was enough to pay the deficit of a sizeable country.

"Nah … I was thinkin' the last time I was in the Room of Spirit and Time. You 'member that, Otousan? Trainin' before Cell showed up?" He looked at Gokou, who pulled his face away from an empty clay pot that had once contained udon. Gokou wore an expression that said he'd like nothing more than to lick the inside of that pot - even if it meant his head getting stuck inside. It would be a small price to pay.

"Oh yeah! Ano, how long were we in there?" Exact dates and times were always a fuzzy issue with Gokou, who had a nasty habit of arriving late for important occasions.

"It felt like forrreevvverrrr … I was _so_ hungry by the time we were done." Gohan whined, his arms folding around his stomach and his forehead plunking on the table, as if feeling phantom hunger pains.

This of course opened up the floodgates for old stories, the crowd soon in hysterics as what had been life-threatening serious calamities were now retold with humorous hindsight. Bardock listened intently, finally hearing what had actually happened to the villains who had been with him in Hell - as the stories told there were hardly unbiased or full of respectful admiration for the hero. It had only gotten worse when Popo had arrived with wide trays full of beer and sake (as the Saiyajin never bothered with drinks while eating).

When Gohan, for the sake of comedy and his grandfather's benefit, stood up to grace the audience with a flurry of poses that were clearly a reference to the Ginyu Tokusentai (and perhaps a bit of a homage to the now-retired Gureeto Saiyaman), the three older men positively howled with laughter. Even Bejiita had allowed himself to express common emotions, covering his eyes as he laughed so hard he shook.

"I can still hear that stupid speech of theirs!" He downright cackled, pounding a fist on the table hard enough to make the plates jump. Gokou then put on his best Furiiza impersonation, his voice nasal as he prattled on and on with one of Furiiza's long-winded monologues. Gohan, timing always perfect, quickly chimed in with a strangely-effete breathy voice that could have only been an immensely disrespectful nod to the pretty-faced Zaabon. The two then carried out a bizarre conversation with topics ranging from the condition of Furiiza's underwear to how badly Dodoria's feet smelled (at this point in time 'Zaabon' clasped his hands together dramatically, as if struck by the vapors). By the time they had run out of steam, everyone was laughing so hard that Gokou found himself stuck in a loop on Furiiza's voice, using all of the synonyms for 'idiot' and 'ape' he could come up with. Suffice to say, it wasn't many, and he soon found himself repeating himself on a long chain of 'stupid monkey stupid stupid stuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuupid' that ended with a hiccupping laugh as he covered his head in his arms, face beet red from laughing.

"Now Son, you shouldn't talk about yourself like that." A voice cut in as Piccolo entered the room, snickering. Behind him followed Dende, cackling at the Nameckjin's jab, and a throng of people who had wondered where their respective mates or sons had wandered off to for so long. That was when introductions began again, Gokou playfully socking Piccolo on the shoulder for the dig at his expense. Popo, gracious host to the end, had managed to concoct even more food for the impromptu dinner party, clearing away the empty plates with a far more normal amount of food. Chi-Chi, sweet-faced and entirely the blushing demure daughter-in-law, hovered around Bardock's elbow, refreshing his drinks happily while lavishing praise on him in regards to his son. Just once he managed to catch Gokou's eye as Mrs. Son Gokou doted on him. Father gave son a devilish smirk and a raised brow, clearly approving of the match. Gokou went scarlet, scratching his cheek as he snickered.

Kuririn, having one too many bad experiences with Saiyajin, swallowed nervously at Juuhatchi-Gou's side, eyeing the tall man with a mix of respect and fear. After moments passed without nary a punch thrown, the monk settled into a more friendly mood set, although he found himself unable to keep his eyes off the tail looped around the warrior's waist, reminding himself constantly that the stern yet civil man was indeed Saiyajin (and not out to rearrange his face). As the group ate happily in one of the rare times they needn't dodge the gluttonous fury of the men, pleasant conversation sprung up again, before Gokou took the initiative, asking the question that had been plaguing his mind since Bardock's arrival.

"Oi, Otousan? How, uh … how did it happen?" He looked to the other end of the table as utensils quieted, heads swiveling between he and Bardock. The soldier went still, paused in memory as a hand went subconsciously to the blood-stained bandana knotted across his forehead. Lowering both hands with some effort, he stared at them, pressed flat on the varnished surface of the table. Too easily did he see them in the pose of wiping the blood from Toma's face, the spark that had set off the powder keg.

He cleared his throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence. He didn't shy away from the eyes focused on him, finally meeting and holding the earnest, enraptured gaze of his son, sitting directly across from him at the long table. "It wasn't exactly a secret that Furiiza hated us. Many hated him back equally. The King's deal with him had brought us glory and battle. Being treated like rabid attack dogs to be destroyed when our usefulness was up was a small price to pay, eh?" At this he looked to Bejiita, who had half-expected him to lash out at him for the sins of his father, as King Bejiita had quite handily given his people over to their deaths for profit. Surprisingly, no venom was in his tone. "The Saiyajin went about their lives in the shadow of their cruel master. It took one creature's final attack on a tired old warrior to bring to light just how badly the agreement would end." He smiled bitterly, still feeling the sharp electrical sting of the Kanassajin's blow on the back of his neck. "He'd given me the ability to see the future, his vengeance for eradicating his people." Bardock waved his hands dismissively, looking to the side.

"At first I thought I'd gone mad. Maybe the hit had flipped my brain." He laughed bitterly. "I'd gone to the planet Meat. The others on my team had gone ahead without me while I was still recovering. I followed behind them, stopping only when I heard you crying in the nursery, Kakarotto. I … I was ashamed of you." His mouth twisted into a wry grin. "The scouter gave you a combat rating of … of two."

Kuririn nearly choked on his drink, almost spraying Videl with beer and saliva as he cackled. "Gokou? With a power level of two?!" He snickered at his old friend, who merely grinned, rubbing the back of his head. "Will wonders never cease! Bahahaha!" Scandalized snickers rippled around the table. Two, huh? Sure, Gokou had that kind of power. In an eyelash, maybe.

Bardock continued, his mirthful grin fading. "When I arrived on Meat, I found my friends dead. Furiiza was sending out death squads, killing teams as they were busy occupying planets. He was headed to Bejiitasei, to personally destroy the planet." His fists clenched, tendons rippling beneath the skin. "It was Toma who told me, before he died. Furiiza had finally grown tired of us, fearful of an uprising. Dodoria nearly killed me then. Hell, I was probably already dying, he'd injured me so badly. I managed to get to my pod, hoping to get to Bejiitasei before Furiiza. When I landed, the guards had told me you'd just been launched, Kakarotto, sent to some blue planet on the frontier called Chikyuusei, where the inhabitants were so weak even a low rank Saiyajin like you could handle it. That's when I knew those strange visions were coming true. I'd seen you land there.

I tried to rally the Saiyajin, telling them Furiiza was coming to wipe us out. They laughed, and thought I was mad. I was. Driven to desperation by the sight of our planet being destroyed, driven by grief and rage. I kept seeing their faces, bloodied and broken. I saw your face, watching you grow to manhood. I swore I would change that destiny, I would kill Furiiza with my bare hands, and save our people. I would come visit you on Chikyuusei, and apologize for my shame." Bardock looked like he wanted to spit, glaring at the ceiling as if he were reliving that day, racing skyward to face off against Furiiza. "I wasn't strong enough. Not nearly enough. Furiiza laughed, like a child with a toy. He used a Death Ball… I was caught in the blast, dead before it hit the planet and destroyed it." It was strange, to speak of his own death like this. He leveled his gaze on Kakarotto again, once again wearing that same cynical, jaded expression. "I think I succeeded in some way, though. My last wish was strong enough. It carried to you, changing your fate, placing you on the path to finish what I failed. I saw you, before I died, and knew you'd fight him, and win. Seeing that, knowing that our people would be avenged, even if it would take many years … I was satisfied with that."

Bejiita growled low in his throat to keep himself from wincing as the ages-old vitriol awoke and burned like acid. He'd sworn he'd be the one to kill Furiiza, and like Bardock, had failed. Bejiita lifted a fist, staring at it as if wishing for the ability to bury it repeatedly in the ugly murdering face of Furiiza until nothing remained but runny wet splotches. Who was the eyesore now, hm?! Who had persevered?! His heated mental ravings broke off as Kuririn spoke, attempting to up the somber note the story had ended on. Bardock had excused himself from the table abruptly, leaving the chattering crowd for the peace of the outdoors. As quietly as he could manage, Bejiita slipped away, noticed only by Gokou, who smiled at the Prince's back, but said nothing.

He found Bardock standing alone, watching the sun slip away. "How long do you have left before you get sent back to Hell?" Bardock's back stiffened. He hadn't felt nor heard Bejiita approach.

"An hour at best, Prince."

"You spent your only day here stuck with those idiots instead of with Kakarotto? What a shame." Bardock shook his head sadly, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Idiots? No. They … you, all of you, are what gave him his power, gave him the ability to surpass the feeble judgment us Saiyajin had laid on him. Maybe we were the fools, blind and drunk with power. None of us cared what became of us until it was too late." He looked down at the short-statured man before sighing at the skyline. "I am sorry, Prince … maybe if we'd occupied Kanassajin earlier, I would have had more time… I could have saved our people. I could have saved the King before Furiiza murdered him."

Bejiita laughed dryly, back straightening proudly as he matched the other's posture. "You couldn't have. Wouldn't have even scratched him. So don't worry about it." Lifting his chin, he gestured with one hand, sizing up Kakarotto's father as he spoke. "You want to be forgiven? Then knock off the bullshit and go say goodbye to that moronic spawn of yours." Bardock bowed deeply with a reverent salute, departing briskly to carry out his first and only direct order. Bejiita crossed his arms haughtily as he turned his eyes to the horizon. He spit over the edge of the Lookout, as if to rid himself of the jealousy that bubbled up inside him. Would his own father have made such a bargain to visit him? Not hardly, but then again the old man died regretting abandoning his son to Furiiza's care. If anything it was shame and self-inflicted punishment that kept King Bejiita firmly planted in whatever part of the spirit world he inhabited. But still, it would be nice to be so beloved that even the dead came back to visit. He spit again, snarling softly at the horizon. "Yeah, you're right. _We_ were the fools."

 

The sun was nearly gone from the sky as Bardock located Kakarotto, standing in the center of his treasured friends. Using his chin, he gestured at him over the tops of the shorter Chikyuujin's heads. "Naa, Kakarotto, it's time."

"…wha? Oh! Poppa!" Untangling himself from the press of people, Gokou came to stand before his father. "You gotta head back, huh?"

Bardock nodded stiffly, jerkily raising his arm and setting it across his son's shoulders. "I want to thank you. You didn't have to welcome me so war -"

"But but but … you're my Otousan! Why wouldn't I?"

"I abandoned you, Kakarotto. I struck that deal with Enma Daiou simply to meet you, not to win your affection. Knowing that there's no resentment is an added bonus, and seeing what you've become is enough to set my heart and soul to rest. Now I can go back to JiGoku with no regrets. The time I spent there waiting for this moment, and the time I'll spend there afterwards is worth it, just to see the man you have become." He lifted a hand to silence Gokou, who was looking for an opportunity to speak. He turned, facing his youngest, raising a hand with a broad grin on his face. Instantly Gokou slapped his palm against it, the two clasping hands, father and son wearing the same happy smile.

"I don't care how long it took or what happened back then. I'm jus' glad I finally got to meet you." His next words were cut off as Bardock pulled on his hand, wrapping his free arm around him in a hug. At that moment he felt Bardock's form shift, his power level tapering off steadily. "J-Ja ne, Otousan."

He put Gokou at arm's length, both hands on his shoulders. "I promised Toma I'd show Furiiza the power of the Saiyajin people. But power wasn't enough … and what is power, anyway? What is being Super Saiyajin? You have been given so much more than power. You've been given love and friendship freely, and returned it just as freely. That is so much more than the cold hard judgments based on strength, the basis for loyalty and respect that we Saiyajin used. I see that now, but I do not regret it. I would have regretted it, though, had you been kept from this life. Be proud of what you are. Be proud of your sons, your friends. They are a worthy legacy, Kakarotto, Son Gokou." Bardock's form went hazy, making the tears in his eyes shine all the brighter.

Gokou took a deep breath, smiling at his father. He looked to the cluster of people, at all the familiar faces he so loved, even the ones he hadn't expected to come to call friends - Piccolo, Bejiita, Juuhatchi-Gou. When his eyes came to rest on his wife and his children, his heart swelled. Chi-Chi was trying to covertly wipe her eyes, Gohan nodding solemnly. The weight of the hands on his shoulders was lessening, fading away like an old memory. He looked back to Bardock one last time, at the face of the father he never knew but now counted amongst the people most special to him. "Hai, Otousan, but they're your legacy, too."

**Author's Note:**

> Yanked from my derelict ff.net account, where it's sat since 2008 still making me happy with +fav notifications.


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